Fragile Wings
by Tsukino Akume
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Beruna, Edmund remembers forgotten subjects, bonds with his brother, and learns that even a traitor can become a king.
1. Journey

**Author's Notes:** There was a scene in the first Chronicles of Narnia movie that always stuck with me, when the Witch froze Sir Giles Fox, slapped Edmund, and then turned the butterfly behind her to stone. Something about it always seemed very symbolic to me, and resulted in the beginning of writing this.

This is a semi-sequel to Understanding and Home, but can be read alone. It takes place in my movie/bookverse blend, leaning more towards movie, and begins two days after the Battle of Beruna, the next morning after Understanding and Home. I can't remember if Sir Giles Fox was always Sir Giles, but for the purposes of this story, he wasn't.

Much love and respect to KatePevensie for creating her Song of Narnia video: www. youtube watch?v=UsD3cvQcWuQ It was wonderfully inspirational, and it absolutely fantastic to watch. Go check it out!

Chapter 1: Journey

"Sire!"

Edmund looked up, startled. His heart pounded in a brief moment of fear at that surprise, and he tried to take several breaths to calm down. "Y-yes?" he managed finally.

"Please Sire, allow me," the faun begged, taking the tunic from his hands.

Edmund blinked. By accident, Peter had given him a bloody nose during their training session this morning, and rather than toss away a perfectly good piece of clothing, he'd been trying to scrub it clean in the stream while he waited for everyone to finish packing up camp. "It's quite all right," he tried. "I'm sure the stain isn't that bad. I can handle it."

"Nay, Sire. I'm sure there are far better things for you to do. Allow me to perform this simple task," the faun assured him.

Edmund frowned, slowly moving to stand. "If you really must," he sighed.

The faun smiled brilliantly at him, and bowed. "Thank you for your kindness, Sire. I shall have it returned to you shortly."

"Thank you," Edmund said awkwardly, forcing a smile before he walked away.

They kept **doing** that, and he really wasn't sure why. He'd find something to do, and within minutes someone would take the task away from him. And they kept calling him 'Sire' for some reason. No one had taken the time to explain why, and he was afraid of looking stupid if he asked.

He found his siblings at the small table between their tents, absently eating snacks and looking as bored as he was. He plopped next to Lucy with a great sigh, and Peter gave him a weary smile. "They get you too, Ed?" he asked.

Edmund sighed, reaching for a piece of toast. "I'm perfectly capable of washing my own clothes," he grumbled.

Susan laughed softly, looking amused. "I tried to clean up after breakfast."

Lucy pouted. "I just wanted to help pack things up."

"Tried to help take down the tents," Peter informed them with a faint smile. "Oreius nearly stopped my heart when he told me 'such menial tasks were not necessary for my supervision'."

"What else are we supposed to do?" Edmund demanded hotly. "Just sit around and wait for everyone else when there's things to be done?"

"That would be correct, Son of Adam," came an amused voice behind him.

He jumped, blushing brightly as he spun around. "Aslan!"

"Would you take away their joy in being able to care for you all?" the great lion continued as his eyes seemed to smile.

Susan looked guilty. "It's not that, Aslan. We're just not used to ... to -"

"Being waited on," Peter finished.

Aslan chuckled softly. "Peace, my children. Preparations are nearly finished. Soon we will make our way to Cair Paravel, for the coronation."

"Coronation?" Lucy echoed uncertainly.

"For the prophecy to be completed, the thrones of Cair Paravel must be filled," Aslan told her, his eyes sparkling.

Edmund frowned, looking at the ground. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Cair Paravel. Peter deserved to be crowned king of course, after the way he'd lead them to victory in battle (which was still quite hard for him to admit). But what would become of Susan, Lucy, and himself? Susan was the second eldest, so did that mean she would become sort of queen as well? But what about Lucy? They never would have made it to Narnia without her. Did she deserve a higher position than Susan?

He wondered distantly if Peter would allow him to remain in his court. (For at this point, Edmund was quite sure that no one had any plans of making **him** any sort of royalty, after all he'd done.) He didn't think Peter would make him a servant, but it was hard to be sure. While they'd patched things up the night before when the events of the battle were fresh in their minds, things were still awkward between them. He kept finding himself assuming Peter meant something to sound as if he thought less of him, or was trying to tell him what to do, but then would suddenly realize that wasn't it at all. Peter meanwhile, seemed to hesitate when speaking to him. One moment he'd be standing back, commenting quietly, and the next he'd be right beside him trying to hold his shoulders. Then he would freeze, and step back again. It was all quite frustrating, and Edmund truly wasn't sure what to do to make it better. While he found he quite liked the idea of being close to his older brother again, he couldn't seem to figure out how to do just that.

His frown deepened as another thought occurred to him.

"Edmund?"

He looked up, swallowing down another surge of fear. He really hoped he'd get over this bout of nerves soon - it was becoming irritating. "Yes?"

Peter frowned at him, then something seemed to soften in his eyes after a moment. "What are you thinking of?"

Edmund bit his lip, fidgeting. "It's just ... what about the others?" he blurted out.

"Others?" Susan frowned.

Edmund nodded, staring down at the ground in misery. "The ones we - the Witch and I, that is - passed on our way here. She turned them all to stone. The fox, and that butterfly."

"Oh, and poor Mr. Badger and all his friends!" Lucy cried in horror as she understood.

"I was just thinking ... Isn't there anything that could be done for them?" Edmund finished hesitantly.

The others stared at him, and he looked down once again. "It was ... just a thought," he mumbled.

To his surprise, he felt Aslan's whiskers tickle his cheek. "And a noble one to be sure, Son of Adam," Aslan assured him, sounding pleased. "If you would be willing to show me where these poor creatures have been left, we will rescue them at once."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to come along," Peter offered. "I can show you where Mr. Badger and the others are."

Lucy made as if to say something, but Susan caught her arm. "And we can continue supervising the move to Cair Paravel," she declared.

Edmund eyed her warily. Somehow, he was sure she was up to something. But then Aslan agreed, and Peter said "Come on then, Ed," so cheerfully he couldn't help but go along with them.

* * *

The ride wasn't ... awkward, exactly. It wasn't even quiet. The small band of soldiers Oreius had insisted they bring along seemed to enjoy chatting amongst themselves in the relaxed atmosphere. Edmund and Peter rode just behind the scouts, Aslan walking along behind them. Neither boy spoke to the other, though they both secretly longed to. Neither was sure how to start the conversation.

Edmund wondered if Peter truly did forgive him. They'd agreed to forgive and be done with it the night before, but had Peter done it because he felt he had to? Did he still think of what Edmund had done, and wonder if he'd do it again?

He shook his head, frowning at himself. No. He and Peter had made Pax, and that was that. Peter wasn't the type to say something he didn't mean.

He winced slightly. No, that was **him**.

He yelped as something slapped against his arm, and turned to glare at Peter. His brother had moved his horse right beside him without his notice, hitting his arm before he realized he was there. "What was that for?" Edmund demanded irritably.

"You're making that face again," Peter informed him. "Stop it."

He blinked. "That face?"

Peter nodded solemnly, and proceeded to make a very angry pout as he pretended to scowl at the ground.

Edmund, recognizing the taunt for what it was, leaned over to strike his older brother's arm in turn. "You're a right riot, Peter," he grumbled.

Peter smirked. "I think so."

Edmund glanced over at him, and felt something in his chest loosen slightly. "Well, if **you** think so, that explains everything, then," he drawled.

Peter's smirk turned into a look of outrage, and Edmund quickly leaned forward over Phillip's neck. "Fancy a run?" he breathed, nudging the Horse gently with his heels.

Phillip snorted and took off quickly, leaving Edmund to call back over his shoulder. "Race you!"

"Why, you little - !"

And soon they were all running, racing ahead of one another. Aslan laughed, a deep booming sound, and Edmund found himself laughing along. Almost instinctively, he glanced back at his brother, and found Peter grinning back. The smile on his face grew, and that tight feeling in his chest uncurled just a bit more.

Awhile later they stopped for a drink and a rest, as everyone had worn themselves out in their sudden race. Edmund sat at the river's edge, dangling his bare feet in the water and wriggling his toes simply for the feel of it. It seemed like ages since he had done something like this, and the last trip he'd had through Narnia hadn't been nearly so pleasant.

He felt, rather than saw, his brother plop down beside him and offer a snack. "Enjoying yourself?" Peter teased.

Edmund paused to consider. "I am, actually," he admitted, looking down at his lap.

To his surprise, an arm came around his shoulders and his brother leaned against him. "Me, too," he sighed.

Still looking down, Edmund allowed himself a slight, very small smile.

"I've missed this," Peter confessed quietly. "You and me, I mean. I don't like it when we can't get along."

Edmund looked up at him, swallowing back the rude comment he was about to make out of habit. Instead, he forced himself to offer a tentative smile. "I'll try not to be such a prat," he offered.

The smile Peter gave him made the hesitant gesture worth it. "And I'll try not to pretend I know everything," he agreed, giving Edmund a slight squeeze. Their foreheads rested together for a moment, and Edmund closed his eyes to appreciate the feeling. He'd always enjoyed being coddled, but as he grew older he'd realized it wasn't a very manly thing to like, and fought against it instead. But right now, it didn't seem so terrible to allow it.

"We should get going, then," Peter said at last, pulling away with obvious reluctance. He flashed his younger brother another smile and held out a hand to help him up. "Shall we away, Lancelot?"

Edmund froze, staring up at him, and Peter's smile faltered uncertainly.

When they were younger and still considered themselves to be each other's best friend, they often played that they were knights off on some courageous adventure. Their father had been amused by their game, and subtly encouraged them by telling stories of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Both brothers had been fascinated, and from then on Peter had been dubbed King Arthur, as he was much more of the leader type than Edmund, while Edmund become Lancelot, Arthur's best friend and most trusted companion. The nicknames had been lost over the years as they'd begun to grow apart, and like their promise, Edmund had become sure Peter had quite forgotten about it.

Fighting down a sudden surge of emotion, Edmund accepted the hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Wherever you lead, Arthur," he said solemnly.

The delight that came over his brother's face made it instantly worth it.


	2. Rescued

**Author's Notes:** My deepest apologies for taking FOREVER to update this! My original plan had been to write this entirely from Edmund's point of view, but I suddenly had the idea to switch between what Edmund and Peter were each thinking. I managed about half a page from Peter's thoughts, and then ... I was stuck. . I finally decided to stick with the entire story from Edmund. If I ever figure out what to write for Peter, I may update it later to add him in, or just make his own separate story; I haven't decided yet. Thank you to everyone who's been ever-so patient in waiting for more, and all the lovely reviews. They make my day everytime I see one. 3

I want someone to draw me the scene of Edmund holding out the butterfly. Seriously. I will love you forever. The image has been stuck in my head for ages, and now I really wanna see it. Sadly, my artistic skill is strictly computer related. .O

It has come to my attention that the fox in the movie didn't actually **have** a name, and I'm stealing it from the lovely and amazing electrum, who convinced me that it was Sir Giles Fox. Whoops. All credit for the name goes to her.

Chapter 2: Rescued

"Up there," Edmund told them, pointing solemnly to the top of the waterfall, just ahead of them. "He's up there."

The closer they'd gotten to the site of the fox's demise, where Edmund had once again betrayed Aslan and his family, the quieter he became. Peter watched him closely now, but wasn't pushing him to speak, for which he was grateful. He supposed he'd have to get used to these constant reminders of his treachery at some point, but for now the pain of knowing was still fresh, and he hated it.

"Peter, Edmund, on my back," Aslan ordered softly. He was watching the outcropping of rock, seemingly judging something. "This shall be done faster if the rest of our party waits here."

Edmund nodded, slipping quickly from Phillip's back and pausing to pat the Horse's neck. Phillip nosed his shoulder gently, and he smiled a little in thanks for the support.

Peter was not dismounting, and he frowned when he saw why. For some reason his older brother was staring at the river with a rather dark, blank expression on his face. His eyes were haunted.

He reached up, touching his arm. "Peter?" he asked softly.

Peter jumped, looking around wild-eyed before his gaze settled on Edmund. He blinked, clearly startled. "Ed?"

"Aslan's going to carry us up," Edmund told him quietly, his eyes questioning.

Peter blinked again. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

He dismounted swiftly, pausing only when Edmund reached to touch his arm again. "Are you all right?" he whispered, concerned.

He received a faint wry smile for his trouble. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Peter retorted gently.

Edmund rolled his eyes, annoyed now, and drew away.

Peter caught his arm, seeming troubled again. "I'm sorry, Ed. Don't ... " He hesitated, his eyes pleading. "I will tell you," he offered. "It's just ... Now's not the best time to reminisce, is it?"

Sighing, Edmund nodded begrudgingly. He had a point. "But you will." It wasn't quite a request, but it wasn't a demand either.

For some reason, it made Peter smile. "I promise," he assured him, squeezing Edmund's shoulder.

Aslan was waiting patiently when they joined him, and didn't seem at all bothered that they hadn't come immediately. Now that the Witch was gone, he seemed relaxed and patient, even more so than he had been before. Edmund wasn't sure why, but the effect was rather soothing. If Aslan wasn't worried, then obviously they had nothing to worry about.

Climbing on the back of a lion wasn't exactly the same as mounting Phillip, and he was immediately aware of the distinction as he struggled. Peter had to push him the rest of the way despite the fact that Aslan had crouched down for them, and he was flushing in embarrassment by the time he straightened. No one said anything about it, but the way Peter hardly scrambled when he offered him an arm didn't help much.

He let out a rather unmanly squeak when Aslan abruptly leapt several feet up the cliff in front of him. Peter reflexatively tightened his arms around his waist with a slight gasp that was only slightly reassuring. He was **never** letting the girls catch wind of this.

All too soon they were at the top, and Peter was already slipping down from Aslan's back. Edmund swallowed hard, his eyes on the stone fox before them. He climbed down slowly, taking in the look of pain and fear on the fox's face as it flinched away. For a moment, he could almost swear he could hear the startled bark of pain it had made when she froze it.

"Ed?"

Peter's hand was on his shoulder, but he stepped away from him, not wanting comfort. That wasn't why he was here. And no matter how much he suddenly wanted to hide in Peter's tunic and pretend nothing had ever happened, that wouldn't achieve anything but making him a coward all over again.

He was so tired of being a coward.

Aslan crouched down in front of the little fox, and exhaled slowly.

Edmund watched, entranced, as the fox's fur ruffled in the breeze. He'd seen Aslan's magic before, after the battle of Beruna when he'd finally managed to pry his siblings off him long enough to see what he was doing, but the sight never ceased to amaze him. To think, merely breathing on someone could undo the Witch's curse. It was fascinating, and slightly disturbing on another scale.

He wondered if Aslan ever needed a mint.

There was a soft gasp, and the fox was back to all fours, bowing low. "Aslan, my lord," he whispered, nose nearly to the ground. "It is an honor."

"The honor belongs to us, Master Giles," Aslan returned gently. "Your bravery against the Witch has reached even my ears."

Giles ducked his head again, ears going back as he seemed embarrassed. "I have done what any other would."

Aslan seemed to smile. "And that, is precisely why you honor us, dear fox."

Giles looked up at last, and froze as he caught sight of Edmund and Peter standing just behind Aslan. "Your majesties!" he gasped. "I - I am so glad - "

Unable to bear it any longer, Edmund threw himself at the fox's feet.

The fox flinched back, and Edmund closed his eyes. It was the same reaction he'd given the Witch. He couldn't blame him, but ...

"I'm sorry," he choked out, leaning forward to bow his head as best he could from the kneeling position he was in. "I know I don't deserve - I'm so, so, **so** sorry. I didn't ... I thought if I told, that she wouldn't ... that you'd ... "

"Your majesty."

He looked up slowly, well aware of the fact that his face was wet.

The fox watched him with a curious expression, his head tilting slightly. "Are you all right, your majesty?" he asked.

Edmund blinked, startled. He sniffed, reaching up to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm ... I'm fine," he managed finally. "I wasn't ... you were the one that was hurt, not me."

There was a sound from somewhere behind him that made him think Peter might be glaring at him, but he ignored it.

Giles' eyes flickered behind him for a moment, confirming his suspicions, before returning to his. "And the Witch?"

"Gone," he answered, frowning a little. "Aslan killed her."

The fox's expression seemed to lift. "Then ... the prophecy is fulfilled? Narnia is safe at last?"

"Prophe - oh." He blinked, remembering. He'd nearly forgotten about it in all that had happened over the last few days. "Um, yes. I suppose."

Giles continued to study him for several minutes. "When you spoke, your majesty, it was in my defense."

Edmund frowned, confused. "Well ... I thought ... I didn't want her to hurt you," he said eventually. "I though if I told her what she wanted to know, about Aslan, she'd leave you alone." He closed his eyes again, bowing his head as his heart ached. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Something soft and strangely scratchy settled on his hand, and he opened his eyes again, startled. A small black paw rested lightly on the fist he'd clenched. When he looked up, Giles' expression was soft, almost pleased now. "Thank you, your majesty, for placing such value on my life," he said quietly. "I am glad to see that you are safe."

Edmund's eyes burned, and he tried to smile. "I'm glad you're safe, too."

Something occured to him abruptly, and his eyes widened. "Oh, no!" he gasped. He whirled, trying to remember. He'd been over there, by the ledge closest to the water ... She'd been further up, closer to the trees ...

"Edmund?" Peter sounded alarmed.

He ignored him, scrambling through the grass, his fingers searching desperately. At last he touched something cold, and his eyes lit up in relief. "Found you," he sighed.

Cupping it carefully in his hands, he climbed to his feet, turning to Aslan. "Can you ... is there anything you can do?" he asked hesitantly, offering the stone butterfly with both hands.

Aslan stared at him for so long he was afraid there was nothing to be done. He faltered, his hands lowering slowly. "I'm sorry ... " he said uncertainly. "I just thought ... I mean ... "

"Edmund," Aslan interrupted, and his voice was soft and gentle and not at all angry, "Sometimes you amaze even me."

Edmund looked up, startled, and flushed as Aslan leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek, purring softly. Behind him he could see Peter watching him with an expression that could only be described as pride. Embarrassed all over again, he swallowed and held out the butterfly, staring at the ground as his cheeks burned.

Aslan's breath was warm against his palms, and he watched in awe as the butterfly's wings slowly began to twitch. To his surprise, it remained in his hands for a minute, as if getting its bearings, before at last lifting off into the air. But instead of flying away, it paused briefly to settle against his left temple. "Hey ... " he protested weakly.

"I think he's thanking you, Ed," Peter chuckled softly.

He meant to give his brother a look of annoyance, but the butterfly chose that precise moment to lift off, and he ducked away, trying not to giggle at the sensation. Blast it all, that tickled.

When he looked up again, Peter was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite place. The pride was still there, but there was a bit of fondness now, and a distance that hadn't been there. It was sort of like the way he looked at Lucy sometimes. For a moment, he almost thought Peter was going to cry.

"Kneel before me, Giles Fox," he heard Aslan say.

Edmund turned, delighted at witnessing the first knighting he'd seen since his own. There had been several knightings at Beruna, but he'd been too distracted by his siblings' fussing and trying to help the wounded to truly pay attention. And Giles, if anyone, deserved it. He was the bravest fox Edmund had ever met. Well ... the only fox so far, but still the bravest.

Aslan's paw gently touched the fox's shoulder. "And arise Sir Giles Fox, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table."

Edmund's eyes went wide. But that was - He looked to Peter, stunned and more than a little confused, but his brother only smiled back at him. "Your first knight, Ed. Lucky you," he said gently.

"I am honored to serve under you, your majesty," the newly appointed Sir Giles spoke up, bowing to Edmund.

Startled, bewildered, and utterly lost, Edmund looked back and forth between the three of them. Peter smiled, Sir Giles chuckled, and Aslan laughed.


	3. Tears

**Author's Notes:** I wasn't planning to head this far into the angst end of this story, but I made the mistake of leaving Edmund alone, and the next thing I knew he was crying. -Shrugs helplessly- So I tried to make Peter fix it. Then I changed my mind. I'm not really sure where I'm going with it after this, so I guess we'll all see.

As a side note, Edmund's comment about his intelligence is meant to be his own thoughts of the moment, **not** a personal observation. I very much believe the opposite. ^_~

Chapter 3: Tears

By the time they made camp that night, Sir Giles had shared the story of the Witch turning him to stone and Edmund's poor attempt at saving him at least six times. By the time everyone in their party had heard it, Edmund had long been busy pretending he couldn't hear what they were saying. More than one of the soldiers had begun to watch him almost thoughtfully, and there was something different in the way they spoke to him now. Not that they hadn't always been polite, but now there was a tone of ... respect maybe, that hadn't been there before.

He wasn't sure that he deserved it, and gaining it after betraying information about Aslan and his siblings didn't seem to be a very good reason to him.

Aslan never seemed upset though, even after hearing what Edmund had told the Witch. Even though it was valuable information, even though it had led the Witch straight to them, he never so much as gave Edmund a stern look. Edmund noticed Aslan's eyes on him once or twice, but it was usually when he had excused himself to avoid yet another telling from Sir Giles, and Aslan's gaze seemed only thoughtful then.

Peter on the other hand, seemed to enjoy listening to the story, whether it was because Edmund hated it so or for another reason was hard to say. His brother never mocked him, just listened quietly and smiled every time he heard Sir Giles' tale. His smile only faded later into the night, when he began to stare at the river again with that same haunted expression.

Edmund retired to his tent shortly after supper, not wanting to hear more of Sir Giles' tales or find more soldiers staring at him. He wasn't tired, and it felt strange to lay in his hammock without Peter nearby, which he found strange more for the fact that it felt wrong at all than anything else. Peter hadn't come to bed as of yet, and he didn't seem to be showing signs of coming soon.

Edmund sighed, rolling over onto his side to stare at the empty hammock across from him. He felt strangely dependent on Peter now, in a way he hadn't been before his rescue from the Witch's camp. Maybe even since before then, when he'd been shackled in an icy prison and silently praying, over and over, for his older brother to save him. He didn't have to forgive him, so long as he would save him.

Even if he deserved nothing from Peter.

His eyes burned suddenly, and he blinked harshly. Now was not the time to cry. His time with the Witch was over now. She was gone, his family was safe, and Narnia was free. He had no reason to cry over what he'd done. He had no **right** to cry, for it had all been his own doing.

The sound of footsteps made him look up sharply, reaching for his sword even as a hand parted the door of the small tent. Peter stopped, and they stared at one another in equal amounts of surprise. "Still a bit jumpy, are we?" Peter asked finally, his tone light as Edmund slowly pulled his hand back.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sounding hoarse.

Peter hesitated. "Ed, are you ... ?" He paused, frowned, and stepped closer. "Edmund, are you crying?"

"No." He sniffled anyway, and silently cursed himself for it.

"Oh, Ed ... "

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of disappointment on his brother's face. "Sorry," he whispered again, swallowing hard.

A hand brushed against his hair, faltered, and at last settled gently on his head. "Edmund, you've got nothing to be sorry for," Peter said softly.

He scowled at that, struggling to sit up and nearly tumbling from his hammock instead. He scrubbed a hand fruitlessly across his eyes and sniffled. "Don't lie, Peter. It's not very becoming of a king."

"Neither is blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault," Peter retorted.

He glared at him, vision still blurred with tears. "Did you listen to **anything** I told you before? I **chose** to tell the Witch about Mr. Tumnus. I **chose** to tell her about all of you. I lied about coming to Narnia because I ... I didn't - "

To his dismay, Peter's expression remained calm. "You didn't what, Ed?"

He looked away, wishing Peter would swear at him instead. This ... **kindness** was killing him, slowly and painfully. Or maybe that was the point? "I didn't want you and Susan to make fun because you didn't believe me, the way we did Lucy," he said at last. "So I lied. Even though I knew it would hurt her, even though I knew it was all true, and I'd promised the Qu - the Witch that I'd bring you all to meet her. I didn't want you to tease me."

Peter said nothing, and Edmund closed his eyes blissfully, reveling in the silent condemnation.

"Why didn't you take us with you to meet her, like you'd said you would?"

He sighed at the soft question, opening his eyes to stare at the floor. "Because I didn't want to share her," he said simply. "I thought she liked me, and she was going to make me special. I didn't want to share that, especially with you. I was being a selfish prat, the way I've always been."

But the words didn't feel quite right, and he didn't know why.

He **hadn't** wanted to share the Witch with his brother and sisters, or anything she had promised him. And he'd left because wanted to be warm, and safe, and eat Turkish Delight with someone who thought him wonderful. Someone who didn't dress him in girl's coats or lecture or ignore him or yell at him because they favored Lucy.

But he'd been scared, too. When Mr. Beaver had mentioned Aslan, and the expressions on the others' faces ... A prophecy about all of them. Was that why she wanted to meet them? Edmund wasn't particularly smart, but he wasn't stupid, either. Part of him had begun to wonder why they **all** had to meet her. And ... he wasn't sure why, but ... he didn't want them to.

"Is what Sir Giles said true?" Peter asked suddenly. "That you told her where we were going because she was going to hurt him?"

He stiffened. "Yes," he said shortly. "I thought if I told her, she'd let him alone."

A hand settled on his shoulder, shockingly warm, and he jumped, looking up into Peter's face in surprise. His brother was watching him solemnly, his eyes dark and serious with something he couldn't quite name. "Edmund, no matter what you say, I'm not going to hate you."

He froze.

To his horror, he felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. "Why the bloody hell not?" he burst out. He swallowed, blinking hard in a vain attempt to make them go away. "Just ... just ... yell at me already. Tell me I'm horrible. Say you never want to see me again. Do **something**!"

There was a low, soft sigh above him, and arms came around him slowly, holding him in place as he struggled to his feet, struggled to pull away. Peter's chin came to rest on his head. "I'm not going to yell," Peter began, his voice deliberately quiet, "Because I don't need to even if I did want to. I'm not going to call you horrible because you're not. And I would never, **ever** say I don't want to see you again. Not after I almost lost you." His voice cracked slightly, and his arms tightened a little.

"What I **am** going to do," he continued, "Is tell you that yes, I'm upset that you ran off, and that you lied, and that you went to someone you hardly knew because you thought she could make you special. I was **terrified** thinking of what she might do to you Ed, no matter what anyone said about you choosing to go to her. God Ed, you're - " He cut off, sounding frustrated. "You're ten bloody years old. And maybe that doesn't excuse you running off with a total stranger when you know better than that, but ... it still means something. I should have kept a better eye on you, I shouldn't have been mean to you. This whole mess was as much my fault as yours."

"It was not!" Edmund snapped, struggling again. "I'm perfectly capable of being responsible for myself, you know!"

"I never said you weren't," Peter sighed, looking faintly annoyed when Edmund finally managed to pull away. "But a lot of what happened was honest mistakes. You didn't know Mr. Tumnus had gone against the Witch, or that you were giving him away. And how could you? You barely knew what was going on when you met her. And by the time you did, you were already her prisoner. You're lucky to have made it out of this alive Ed, really you are. It's practically a miracle, really."

Edmund could see the look in his older brother's eyes, could see that Peter was saying this because he was relieved and happy he was safe, not because he was mocking him. But the words still stung. "Right, because obviously I can't be trusted to get myself out of my own messes," he said sarcastically before he could stop himself.

Peter sighed again, and there was a pinched look to his face that he always got when he thought Edmund was being particularly childish. "That's not what I said."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Edmund looked away, swallowing. The knowledge of what had nearly happened, how close he'd come to dying a cowardish traitor tied to a tree, still haunted him. If Narnia's soldiers hadn't rescued him ...

"Ed, do we really have to do this now?" Peter groaned. "It's late, it's been a long day, and we're both tired."

Edmund stiffened. "You're right," he said finally, his tone flat. "What was I thinking? We need sleep."

"Ed - "

"It's late, Peter," he interrupted, and inwardly he cringed at how cold he sounded.

"Edmund, **please**. I thought we agreed to try and get past all this?"

**That** made him turn, scowling. "We did," he said shortly. "But it seems the problem still hasn't changed, which means **we** won't."

"And what problem is that?" Peter demanded, scowling down at him.

He wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop acting like a grown up when he wasn't. There wasn't even a full three years between them, and Peter had **no right** to act like he knew everything when he so obviously didn't. Or to assume that **he** didn't know what the problem was himself, just because he was younger. Being younger had nothing to do with maturity, and after everything that had happened, he felt **ages** older than his brother and sisters now. He wasn't the eldest, but that didn't mean he didn't know things.

And Peter could never see that.

But Aslan's words still echoed through his head, a gentle reminder. _"You are each here to learn something, Edmund. And what each of you learns individually will one day help you all, help Narnia itself. That is the nature of true wisdom."_

"You don't listen," he said finally.

Peter's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You don't listen," he repeated, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "You always assume you know what's going on, but you really don't. You're not the only one who knows things, Peter. And being older is circumstance, it doesn't make you smarter." He hesitated, looking away. "You used to, but you stopped listening a long time ago."

Silence lingered, and though he wasn't looking, he knew Peter was struggling to say something that wasn't going to start them fighting all over again.

" ... I'm listening to you now, aren't I?" he said finally.

Edmund shook his head, sighing softly as he turn back to his hammock. "No. You're not. Good night, Peter."

"Edmund - "

"Good night," he said firmly, rolling over and pulling the blankets up over his head.


End file.
